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Some of my War Stories 

BY ALLEN RIPLEY FOOTE 

Private: Co. B. 3rd Michigan Infatitry; Second Lieuteyiant : Co. 
B. 21 St Michigan Infantry. 



Read before the Commandery of the State of Ohio, Military 
Order of the Loyal Legion of the United States. Stated 
meeting, Cincinnati, Wednesday evening, October I , IQI3. 



WHEN, in 1861, President Lincoln called for 75,000 
volunteers to enlist for a three months' service to uphold 
the authority and preserve the unity of the United States, 
I, a boy of nineteen, sought the first opportunity that 
offered, to enlist. I was at the door of the recruiting 
office long before it opened. 

Dr. D. W. Bliss, who afterward became a famous army surgeon 
and was one of the surgeons who attended Presidents Lincoln and 
G^irfield, gave me the required physical examination. When measur- 
ing my height he said — "Raise your heels, you are a little short." 

Before my regiment was mustered in, the call came for 300,000 
volunteers to enlist for a three-years' service, and we were mustered 
in for three years. 

My regiment was ordered to Washington as soon as it was 
ready to move. Clad in grey uniforms and armed with old muzzle- 
loading Harper's Ferry muskets, which had been changed from flint 
locks, we made a valiant appearance and received ovations from the 
populace of every city and village through which we passed. This is 

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especially true of Ohio. At one station all of the ladies of the town 
turned out loaded with small bouquets of flowers, to which were pinned 
slips on which they had written patriotic sentiments. These they 
threw into the car windows. The sentiment on the one I caught 
read — "The women of Ohio are for the Union—to a man." 

Our first camp was at the Maryland end of the Chain Bridge, 
which crossed the Potomac above Washington. We marched from 
this camp to Centerville, Va., to engage in the first battle of Bull Run. 
The first sight we had of war was on the morning of the second day's 
march, when we came upon some camp fires where the Confederates 
had cooked their breakfast that morning before leaving for Bull Run. 

We arrived at Centerville before noon of the third day and 
made our camp there. After dinner we were ordered to advance, in 
light marching order, toward Blackburn's F'ord. When near the Run 
we were deployed to the left of the road in an open field on a hillside 
sloping down to the Run, which was concealed by a growth of bushes 
and trees. Here we were ordered to rest. While in this position we 
were startled by seeing a finely-mounted and uniformed Confederate 
Officer ride out from these bushes just at the right of our regiment. 
I presume every man in the regiment saw him. Some three or four 
of the boys, having the instinct of war in them, immediately raised 
their guns to shoot him. Seeing this, our Colonel raised his hand in 
a forbidding attitude and called out, — "Why, boys, you would not shoot 
a man in that way, would you-f* Don't shoot ! !" The Confederate 
Officer, after inspecting our position, returned to his command un- 
harmed. In about fifteen minutes, as soon as he could maneuver his 
regiment, he ordered it to fire. We saw the flash and smoke and 
heard the roar and the hissing of the bullets. This is the first time 
we were under fire. 1 am glad to say we were under it about 20 feet. 
Every bullet passed over us. Not a man in our regiment was hit. 

After this volley we were complimented with a few shots from 
a battery of six-pound Held pieces, which also went wide of their 
mark assuming that they were shooting at us. 

Having received these compliments, we were withdrawn from 
the field and returned to our camp at Centerville. This was our part 
in the skirmish of Blackburn's Ford, three days before the first battle 
of Bull Run. 

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On the next day we were ordered to establish a picket Hne be- 
tween Centerville and Bull Run. When marching out from our camp 
toward the Run, we could see cars loaded with Confederate soldiers 
as their train crossed the road we were on. When they disembarked 
and formed in line the glistening of their bright gun barrels gave the 
impression they were aiming at us. This excited one of our boys 
terribly. He jumped out into the centre of the road, swinging his 
hat and yelling as loudly as he possibly could — " Don't shoot this way ! ! 
There are folks in the road!!" 

These two stories illustrate what we knew at that time about war. 

On the night before the battle I was detailed to do guard duty 
before General Dick Richardson's headquarters. He was occupying 
a small house. About eleven o'clock he came out and asked me if 
I would be on duty there at three o'clock in the morning. I answered 
"Yes." Then he said pointing in the direction of the Stone Bridge, 
"About three o'clock in the morning a cannon will be fired over there. 
When you hear it, call me at once. A great battle will be fought here 
tomorrow." 1 needed nothing more to keep me awake that night, nor 
did the General. He was out two or three times before the alarm 
gun was fired. 

On the day of the first battle of Bull Run, having been on 
guard duty all night, 1 was left in camp when my regiment was 
ordered out. 1 took advantage of the opportunity to post myself on 
the Centerville Hill where I could overlook the field of action. Thus 
it happened that I was on the spot where the Congressional picnic 
party spread its luncheon. A number of members of Congress, with 
their ladies, drove out to Centerville from Washington in their car- 
riages to have a picnic and see the battle. 

From that position 1 saw the beginning of the panic when our 
troops on the right gave way and started for the rear in indescribable 
disorder. I went to our camp, secured my gun and accoutrements and 
joined in the stampede. Several times that night, when stopping for 
a little rest, I, and all about me, was aroused and terrified by the cry — 
The black horse cavalry are coming!" The next morning I was 
safely back across the Potomac on the old Chain Bridge camping 
ground, competent to certify that the distance from Washington to 
Centerville is — three days going, and one night coming back. 

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As soon as our recjiment got together we were ordered to go 
into camp on the Arhngton Flats, south side of the Potomac, opposite 
Washington, There it was that Abraham Lincoln gave courage and 
cheer to the army by driving slowly around among the troops in an 
open carriage, stopping a moment here and there to speak to or take 
the hand of a private soldier, his face inspired with the solemn grandeur 
of an awful duty to prosecute the war for the preservation of the Union 
to a successful conclusion, or the bitter end. 1 see his face now, 
colored and featured as can never be done by brush or chisel. It in- 
spires me now, as it did then, with a resolve such as every soldier in 
that army felt as he looked upon Lincoln's face that day — a resolve 
unformed in words but possessing my life — always to do my duty for 
the cause of human rights and human welfare on every occasion and 
in every way, as God gives me light to see it and power to do it. 

In the spring of 1862 my regiment was transported from 
Alexandria, Va., to Hampton Roads, when the Army of the Potomac 
changed its base to start its march "On to Richmond" from Old Point 
Comfort. We soon appeared before the Confederate fortifications at 
Yorktown. Here we were ordered to dig. When the digging was 
done the Confederate forces abandoned their fortifications and marched 
to Richmond. We followed closely. Their rear guard made a stand 
at Williamsburg, stopping our advance. The battle of W'illiamsburg 
was then on. The Confederates had prepared to defend this position 
by making slashings, digging rifle pits and erecting forts. Fort 
Magruder covered the main road into Williamsburg. The engagement 
at this point was brought on by some New Jersey troops. They ad- 
vanced a battery on this road to a point directly in front of the Fort 
and very near the rifle pits. Here the battery stuck in the mud, hub 
deep. It could not be moved further nor brought back. During the 
day it was captured and recaptured several times. 

At that time my regiment, and the Michigan Second Infantry, 
were part of Gen. Phil Kearny's Division. We were on the left of 
the road, the New Jersey troops on the right. In the middle of the 
afternoon, when Gen. Hancock was prepared to make his famous 
charge on the Confederate left, Gen. Kearny, mounted on a white 
horse and dressed in full uniform, as conspicuous a figure as can well 
be imagined, came dashing up to the Michigan Second regiment and 

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called out — "Whai regiment is this?" Col. Poe, a regular army 
officer, immediately saluted the General and said — "The Michigan 
Second Infantry, Col. Poe commanding." General Kearny said — 
"I want this regiment." Col. Poe turned to give the required regu- 
lation orders, but Gen. Kearny stopped him saying — "None of that! 
Come on boys!" A captain of his staff, seeing what he was about to 
do, tried to stop him, saying — "General you should not go into the 
engagement in this way. Remember, your life is worth a whole 
regiment to the army " Turning to him like a flash, Gen. Kearny 
said — "If you do not want to go, stay here." At that he reined his 
horse into the road and started toward the Confederate lines, waving 
his sword and shouting back — Come on boys!" and every man fol- 
lowed, on both sides of the road, pell mell, without order, wading 
through mud and climbing through slashings up to the rifle pits in 
order to get there. How I came to be there I do not know, but I do 
know that I went up that road with my right shoulder next to Gen. 
Kearny's left stirrup and kept that position until he reached the further 
edge of the slashing, when he turned and, pointing to the Confederates 
in their rifle pits, shouted to the men coming after him — "There they 
are!! Give them hell, boys, give them hell!!" 

At this moment, as if by inspiration, a band burst forth with 
the tune, "All hail, the conquering hero comes." Above the roar of 
musketry and cannonading came the cheers from the charge Hancock 
was making. The New Jersey boys again manned their battery and 
began to play on the rifle pits and on Fort Magruder. The Fort 
answered and every Confederate rifle in the pits was speaking to us. 
No one who lived through those moments of strife and sacrifice will 
ever forget the scenes, the exaltation and the devotion of life to patri- 
otic duty that was there manifested. 

Our men struggled through the slashings as best they could, in 
groups of two or more. A New Jersey boy was with me. We 
stopped behind a clump of small bushes to watch our chances with 
the Confederates in the rifle pits less than two hundred feet in front 
of us. There was a larger group to our left that attracted the attention 
of the Confederates. Shots were being exchanged as rapidly as heads 
appeared on either side. Suddenly, out from the group to our left, 
came a ringing laugh, as joyous and care-free as was ever heard at a 

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base ball game. My comrade was possessed with a desire to know 
its cause. Shortly that laugh came again. He declared he would go 
and find out why they were laughing. 1 told him if he stirred he 
would be shot, but he made the attempt. As soon as he raised him- 
self, before he had taken a step, he was shot and instantly killed. 
Attention having been thus called to the spot, a confederate volley was 
fired into that clump of bushes. 1 saved myself by lying down behind 
the body of my dead comrade. 

As the sun was dropping below the western horizon the Con- 
federate rif^e pits were captured. Hancock's charge had succeeded. 
Fort Magruder fired its farewell shot; the Confederate rear guard was 
on its way to Richmond. The battle of Williamsburg was ended. 

The next day, one of a group of Confederate prisoners declared 
there was one thing about that battle he could not understand. He 
said he was a sharp shooter; that he could hit a mark quite a distance 
away every time, and offered to prove it by actual demontration. The 
thing he could not understand was — why he could not hit General 
Kearny the day before. He said he saw him plainly; knew he was 
a commanding officer, and that he deliberately shot at him six times. 
General Kearny was not touched, but the Captain who tried to per- 
suade him not to expose himself as he did was shot through the heart 
and instantly killed by the side of the General. 

An interval of time, a march through mud and water almost 
waist deep, brought us to Fair Oaks, within sight of Richmond. 
Heavy rains had made it almost impossible to ford the Chickahominy 
River which divided McClellan's army. Seeing an advantage in this, 
General Lee ordered General Longstreet to attack the part of our 
army that had succeeded in crossing the river. General Casey's divi- 
sion received the brunt of this attack. General Kearny's division was 
held in reserve to support General Casey. We ate our dinner and 
then lay on our arms for some little time, just out of range, tracing the 
course of the action by listening to the firing and watching the increas- 
ing number of wounded making their way to the rear. I'o be thus 
held in reserve, expecting every moment to be called into action, is the 
supreme trial of a soldiers courage. In those moments my heart 
became faint. But, when the bugle call was sounded calling us into 
action, all thought of self vanished. As eager as an eagle in pursuit 

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of its prey, we went forward. Longstreet's division was making a final 
charge. Casey's men passed through our ranks as we formed a line 
between the contending forces. My Company had the regimental 
colors, defended by a detailed color guard of sixteen corporals. 1 was 
not of this guard, but was a corporal then, on the left of my Company 
next to the color guard. Our line was hardly formed when we re- 
ceived the Confederate charge. Firing was at short range. Fourteen 
out of the sixteen corporals composing the color guard were shot almost 
simultaneously; some killed; some wounded, but the colors did not fall. 

I was on my knees in the front rank. The corporal on my left 
was shot in the head and fell across my legs. He spoke to me. I 
turned to look at him, and said — " I cannot stop work now to help 
you." As I said this I was shot, the bullet entering squarely on my 
breast, cutting off the first shirt button below the collar. It passed 
through the bone, which turned its course to the right, and passed out 
between the ribs. I was in the act of loading my gun at its muzzle. 
I had the powder in. When hit my right arm fell. I tried three 
times to put the bullet in and finish loading, hoping to give the enemy 
one more shot. Finding I could not do it, I dropped my gun, un- 
strapped my cartridge box and crawled to the rear until I came to a 
cleared field where a battery was stationed firing over the heads of our 
men into the Confederate ranks. As I raised up to walk, a gunner 
motioned to me to step aside out of range and then continued firing. 
I walked around back of the battery and stopped to see it work and 
listen to the music of its roar. 

The Confederate charge was stopped. My regiment lost about 
one hundred and fifty men in killed and wounded within the few 
moments the engagement lasted. 

That night 1 lay on the ground under a large tree. Noting 
that every breath sent bubbles of air through my wound, I called a 
soldier who was trying to care for the wounded and told him 1 could 
not live long on half-rations of air. He looked at my wound, tore 
some square pieces off a bandage roll, placed them over the wound 
and punched them into it with his finger and poured some cold water 
on the cloth. This caused the blood to congeal about the cloth and 
enable me to get the benefit of the air 1 was breathing. 



The next morning I was taken back to Savage Station where 
I was placed on Dr. Bliss' dressing table (he was then Medical 
Director of the Division) to have my wound dressed. As he cut my 
shirt off 1 looked up at him and said, laughingly, " Doctor here is a 
wound you cannot amputate." As soon as he had uncovered it, he 
said, It would be much better for you, my boy, if I could." 

When my shirt was cut off, I discovered another wound on my 
left arm about half way between the shoulder and elbow. The bullet 
had chipped off a spot as large as a silver dollar but had not buried 
itself in the flesh. The arm was black and very much swollen. My 
wounds were soon bandaged and 1 was laid on the ground beside the 
railroad track to await transportation to Fortress Monroe. From there 
I was sent to Long Island College Hospital in Brooklyn, N. Y. 
When convalescent I was ordered to the Invalid Camp at Alexandria, 
Va. I did not relish the idea of becoming a "condemned yankee" as 
the members of Invalid Corps were then called. In going through 
Washington we passed by the Armory Square Hospital, then in charge 
of Dr. Bliss. I fell out" and went into his office. Fortunately I 
found him at his desk. When he looked at me he recognized me at 
once and said, 'See here, young man, this will never do. You will 
ruin my reputation. I reported you mortally wounded at P'air Oaks and 
have had you dead and buried in the Chickahominy swamp for six 
months." 1 said, I will improve your reputation by giving you an 
opportunity to resurrect me." I then told him I did not want to be 
a ' condemned yankee" and wanted him to find a way to save me 
from going to the Invalid Camp. He immediately called the hospital 
steward, ordered him to put me in bed and keep me there four days, 
I protested, saying I was perfectly able to be about. The Doctor said 
to me in an undertone, "You stay in bed four days; by that time I 
will have an order assigning you to duty in my office." 

I was given charge of making out the papers for the soldiers 
discharged from the Hospital. I frequently urged the Doctor to order 
me to my regiment, but he refused, saying I could never serve as an 
enlisted man since receiving my wound. Being convinced there was 
no hope of ever being permitted to join my regiment, I made out my 
own discharge paper and placed it in a package I submitted to the 
Doctor for his signature. After he had signed all of the papers, I took 
mine out of the package and showed it to him. He endorsed it. 
Able to serve as an officer, but not as an enlisted man." 

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I will stop my story here, only adding that after returning home 
I re-enlisted as a private in Company B. 21st Michigan Infantry, 
then with the Army of the Cumberland at Chattanooga. I was com- 
missioned as a Second Lieutenant before I left the State to join that 
regiment. By chance, that commission was dated on January 26, 
1864, my twenty-second birthday. 

Such memories as these are among the most precious products 
of my life. 

The gains of life are various. Some objects we pursue disappear 
as we grasp them. We are children, chasing with excited delight 
beautiful bubbles floating free in air. We touch them and they vanish. 
Some objects are as enduring as the eternal truth of God. We pursue 
them with the stern courage of men upborne by the strength of a moral 
conviction. Though, in the hour of trial and triumph, a crown of 
thorns be pressed upon our brow, the memory of a right act, courage- 
ously done, will enrich the soul forever. 

The memory of such actions is the richest endowment and the 
most sacred acquisition of the loyal volunteer. How little all that can 
be given him as a reward for his services must ever be in comparison 
with that which he has by right of his own achievement. 

Ask him now how he values his memory of that day when, 
with his regiment, he first left home for the scenes of war. Can the 
picture ever fade.'' Streets thronged with the populace and decorated 
with the flag he was to defend! Can he ever forget the holy inspira- 
tion of the silent cheer from his speechless father, mother, sister or 
lover as he passed them? 

Ask him how he values his memory of a thousand incidents of 
army life that are never recorded by a single line on the page of history, 
but which revealed comrade to comrade, knotted life to life, and gave 
opportunity for the expression of nobility by noble men. 

Ask him how he values his memory of the hours of conflict 
when the magnetic touch of elbow to elbow, comrade to comrade, 
gave courage and the line grew firm as adamant; when the spirit of 
those who fell entered into those who remained, as the dying trans- 
formed their unwilling groans into cheers for the living. In the 
crucible of conflict men become molten. Their blood mingles. Their 
souls blend. Their lives are fused into the life of the Nation. Who 
that has felt the mystic power, the grand exaltation, the unutterable 

11 



joy of that supreme moment when his heart's blood leaped forth as he 
fell at his post, would call back one drop of it for all that can be given 
him in return? 

Ask him now how he values the memory of that day, when, 
duty done, his mission accomplished, with tattered battle flags, clothes 
soiled and torn, bronzed face and hardened muscles — it may be with 
scarred and disabled body — he returned to his home with the survivors 
of his regiment. Again the streets are thronged with the populace and 
decorated with the National colors. The storm cloud passed, all are 
wild with joy made solemn by thoughts of those who could not come, 
remembered by none more tenderly than by those by whose side they 
fell. The glory of flowers, mingled with the voices of music, enchant 
the eye, perfume the air, exalt the soul. Suddenly, from out the mass 
of eager faces there darts a father, a mother, a sister or a lover, as some 
looked-for-one is recognized. The heart can endure the strain no 
longer. He is snatched from the ranks and embraced amidst the 
cheers of all observers. 

Words!! There are no words for such moments! But the 
entry written by the recording angel that day will forever read — 
"Thank God! My boy, my brother, my lover has done his duty." 

The days of trial and victory are passed, but memory causes 
them to live forever in the eternal NOW. 

Such memories are the true reward of loyal duty courageously 
performed. They can be possessed only by those who have earned 
them. Find such a one, become acquainted with him, and you will 
find one who will exact least from the defended and is most generous 
to the vanquished. 

These memories stir within old soldiers their best manhood, 
and thrill them with noblest pride as they look into each other's faces. 
They only are capable of appreciating at their true value the comrades 
of the campaign, the veterans of the battlefield. They, better than 
all others, know how to honor him that was loyal and performed the 
duties of loyalty when the Nation had need of his services. 

All who seek to perpetuate the history of war for the preser- 
vation of the Union by pen or brush or chisel; all who speak about 
or ponder over the events of those days, must ever stand uncovered in 
the presence of him who can say of the first battle of Bull Run, of the 
last grand review, or of any of the battles between — ' I performed the 
duties of Loyalty — I was there," 

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